


Charm

by politely_ironic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/F, Really Really Gay, pure fluff, self indulgent af tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politely_ironic/pseuds/politely_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning on a day much like any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charm

The silence is long, stretching past their plane of reality. It’s a quiet that might almost be unsettling, were it not for Clarke’s breathing. It's even, the sharp pull of air into her lungs is as gratifying as the long exhale, and Lexa presses her hand gently into the delicate skin of Clarke’s sternum, between her breasts. She thinks that this is the truth of intimacy, the sureness of Clarke’s heart beating against her palm, her other hand is shoved under the pillow Clarke’s head is on, leg thrown over her. It’s protective, almost possessive, something Lexa wouldn't allow herself, at least not consciously. 

But she doesn’t move, now, turns her face down, into the clean smell of Clarke’s hair, shining golden in the brief rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds of her bedroom. She is too close, in as much as she is too far, and she curls into Clarke, whose body is twisted awkwardly, her torso angled towards Lexa, hip jutting out underneath the blankets. It’s sweet, almost, like she can't decide if she wants to hold or be held. 

Lexa shuffles closer, pressing her nose against Clarke’s jaw, trailing her hand down to her stomach, against the invisible peach fuzz right above her navel. She has to get close anyways, since Clarke is a blanket stealer. Clarke mumbles something, tilts her head back a little, maybe invitingly. Lexa presses a kiss to the side of her throat, more a question than anything, and Clarke’s head lolls to the side completely exposing her neck. Lexa figures that's as good an assent as any, and drops a kiss behind her ear. 

Clarke does some more muttering, turning the rest of her body to face Lexa. She presses their foreheads together, and is rewarded with a face full of her own hair. Lexa outright laughs, loud and unexpected in the morning lull. Clarke is finally audible when she says,  
“Rude,” a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.  
“That's entirely subjective,” Lexa whispers, staring, openly, at the shadowed curve of her lips, the saccharine crinkle of her guileless, cornflower eyes. Warmth spreads through her chest like tree sap dripping from a chink in its armor, peeled carefully away. 

Clarke sits up, slowly, stretching her arms high above her head. Her back arches and Lexa watches the muscles in her back shift, eyes drifting down to the base of her spine. Her shoulder pops a little, and Clarke sighs involuntarily, which shouldn't make Lexa's heart slide up into her throat, but it does, and she catches Clarke's wrist as it falls, tugging her down.

Lexa gives her soft little butterfly kisses, on each one of her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her ears, her forehead, the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose, until the pressure of her chest give way to the feeling of Clarke's hands running idle tracks down her sides. Her fingers are ghostly on the underside of Lexa's ribs, touching for the sake of touching. Lexa kisses her lips like the rest of her face, brief and chaste. They’re connected everywhere, when Clarke pulls her close, mouth pliable, open. Clarke has terrible morning breath, and Lexa shoves her away after a good ten minutes, reluctant to move, however necessary it is. Clarke huffs out a laugh, goodnatured as always.  
“Pancakes?” she asks, though it's not really a question. Lexa smiles, not willing to break the spell, as she props herself up on her elbow. 

Clarke gets up, totally naked except for her boxer shorts, powder blue lace against her pale skin. She walks towards the door of their- Lexa’s bedroom, hand on the doorknob, lingering. Lexa’s mouth goes dry, and she swallows, closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them, Clarke is grinning fiendishly, back against the closed door, arms tucked up behind her, and Lexa stops herself from looking away from her face.  
“Did you hear me, Lex?”  
“Uh, yes. Pancakes are… pancakes are good.” Lexa says, a touch meek, but she puts on a brave face, despite the flush crawling up her neck. 

She could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> i just want them to be happy. title is based on charm by my bubba which is a p good vibe for this.


End file.
